6/23/2016

Few directors are as polarizing as Nicolas Winding Refn; basically you either
love him or you hate him. Or in some cases he inspires hate and adoration in
equal measure within each individual. That's the place where I tend to fall.
Refn has cornered the market in art house movies for tough guys, hammering out
muscular flicks such asBronson,Valhalla Rising,
and his semi-mainstream curveballDrive,
all of which found a decent enough mix between style and depth so as not to be
considered too shallow. The same can't be said of his last effort, the
nihilistic and boringOnly God
Forgives which found a way to make Ryan Gosling kicking ass
throughout Bangkok snooze-worthy.

The Neon Demonis exactly where Refn needs to be, embracing his gruesome,
shallow side with unabashed glee and a gallon of blood. Refn is, in the shallowest
of ways, attacking the shallowness of Hollywood and the way it must continually
feed on youthful energy to survive. Only, he's not even attempting to be coy
about it. His delight in every tawdry frame will only be matched by the guilty
joy audiences will have at watching beautiful, porcelain Hollywood princesses
devouring one another body and soul.

The story is as old as time, but then
nothing is truly common when Refn gets a hold of it. Elle Fanning plays vacuous
beauty Jesse, who arrives in the neon demon aka Los Angeles to become part of
the fashion scene. Refn's vision of L.A. is instantly sinister, like a neon-lit
waking nightmare of terminal narcissism. Jesse's gorgeous and beauty is really
the only thing of value in the world she's trying to crack. But it's her
innocence that makes her stand out among the crowd of catty, plastic witches
who reek of desperation and, let's face it, are in their 20s and getting older.

Everybody Jesse encounters has an ulterior
motive, even her friends. Jena Malone is fantastic as Ruby, a make-up artist
who takes the newbie starlet under her wing. “Don’t worry, the
deer-in-the-headlights thing is exactly what they want.” she tells her. And
it's true. Jesse instantly becomes the new hot ticket item, quickly surpassing
the nip/tucked phoniness of Gigi (Bella Heathcote) and Sarah (Abbey Lee).
They become old news overnight, and if they were downright bitchy before it's
cranked up to the nth degree once Jesse becomes a star. These pouty, dolled-up
goddesses are downright mafia-esque in their duplicity. They simultaneously
want Jesse's destruction and everything the clueless girl has.

It's all just surface material, though,
and Refn likes it that way. He's not saying anything especially new or clever
here, and that's part of the fun. Every bit of The Neon Demon is transparently
frivolous, offering Refn and cinematographer Natasha Brier the platform to
indulge in every feverish, surreal scenario they can think of. Some of it makes
sense, most of it doesn't. Random panther in a shady motel room? Check.
Nausea-inducing strobe light trapeze acts? Check. Occasional lesbian dalliances
with the living and the not-so-living? Check. Refn's odd fascination with
triangles continues, as well, almost as if he's trying to initiate the audience
into a cult of his own making.

But all of that is just the tip of the
iceberg for this gross, deliciously vile spectacle, which moves along at Refn's
typically unhurried pace. Don't let that lead you to believe it's boring.
There's way too much scathing humor for it to ever be dull. Most of it comes
from the catty comments made by the foursome of ladies, but others are simply
the GIF-ready facial expressions by the disgusting, pretentious men populating
this corner of the Hellmouth. The best of which is Alessandro Nivola as the
unbearably conceited fashion designer who makes Jesse his new muse. The look on
his face the first time he sees her is priceless. Keanu Reeves plays the creepy
owner of the rundown motel Jesse is staying at; a guy who houses underage
prostitutes and may even be raping them. He's the scum beneath scum's feet. And
there's also Karl Glusman, known for starring in Gaspar Noe'sLove, as
the empty-headed but loyal guy we know is destined to be treated like dirt at
some point. We aren't disappointed. Every character is objectified to the point
of near-worship, most of all Fanning who is captivating and yet we're put off
by her because of Refn's obvious fascination with her face. The camera never
stays away from it for too long, like a leering, dangerous stalker waiting to strike.

Whether it was a conscious decision on
Refn's part to attack the "style over substance" critique by makingThe Neon Demonovertly superficial is unknown, and it
doesn't really matter. What he's done is create the ultimate in trash cinema,
one that ends in an erotic orgy of blood and death. Does any of it mean a
thing? Absolutely not, and that's perfectly okay.